12/05/2024
My mom' s whereabouts have been various and more dramatic than most of us can carry.
Therewith I ask you to NOT read if you are sensitive or dont want to be sad right now.
1974, I was 9 of age, my brother 7, younger siblings just babies. It must have been close to Mother's Day because I remember the cards we made at school.
Me and my brother share class because the countryside school is little, and we come home to our huge manor- type villa .
We have hardly entered the entrance hall when father shouts " up you lazy sow" - mom sleeps an afternoon nap on the sofa in the sunny luving room. Tired, working as 3- shift nurse. Twins are big eaters and my baby brother has just come home after two years in hospital, needing rehab and special care.
We have no time to react even: father drags mom in to the hall, beating her, kicking her. Throwing her onto wall.
Until she is lifeless.
I try to grab the phone and call police, father throws the phone onto wall and it breaks.
Me and my brother run into a wardrobe, huge as a room, and lock the door from inside and stay there until midnight.
My brother is sensitive and gets a deep trauma, carrying the closet inside until 2015. Borderline, PTSD.
1987, Stockholm, Sweden.
" WHY didnt You die then" askes the female lawyer in the court. Mom says: "lets go out of here". The story hits so hard the court process is cessated at least twice. The process is like 15 years post hoc, after the fact. The investigation is like being accused. I have hard to remember, that cursed year is a huge black hole.
Mom is examined thorougly: split spleen, leasions and bleedings in liver and intestine, at least 3 broken ribs, fractures, hemorrhages, broken arm, a lesion in diafragma.
Back to 1974:
She lies there in the dark, hardly breathing, grey and blue. Bleeding basically from all body cavities. We are fiest afraid she dies, then hope she does. That dear human being is in horrific pain.
No one comes to help. No-one. People turn on the door and go. I am punished at school because " I have such a terrible fantasy", " Your father is a nice man" says the firebrigade boss I contact. I might have sought other help but part of me vanished into dark and I really dont know.
Mom survives miraculously, half walks, half crawls, writes a note which says:
" I peek, you pack".
We don't move about, we flee. In a pig transport van, blessed be the kind pig farmer, the very one and only who helped mom to flee.
Victims:
Single mother, convalescent youngest child. 4 kids and 500 crowns a month to live for. She ate every other day to save money, and bicycled to work with a ridiculous Bonanza- bike. We lived in extreme poverty and depravation. Others mocked us and said things like " are you Neanderthals or what, no one has a B&W television". We had, until 1982...nothing to wear, nowhere to go.
" it is what it is, I cant do more. When you reach the age, you make it better" said mom.
Love:
Mom was born in Finland but was a war refugee and adopted by a very nice Swedish family. My mom has stated she'd never survived everything that happened if she hadn't got the years in Sweden and if she hadn't received the love she got from her Swedish family.
Even more dread of life:
Meanwhile in Sweden my mom's biological mom lost her husband, my moms father. Grandma turned neurotic and violent. When forced back to Finland, my mom fled again and again. She grew up in an other adoptive family and at my gradma's best friends' home. When 15, she moved from her finnish mom.
I hardly hear her complain. She wonders though why it all was thrown to her:
Violent husband, so was the husband no 2, too...a demon in priest's disquise. Youngest child almost dead 1 year old. Agressive and unpredictable biological mom in post- war Finland.
Hard years as single mom. No place for herself at all, little pieces of heaven here and there. Little insignificant flashes of light keeping her hope alive.
She rose from ashes twice, and built a life and career and property, creating security and stability. It was always proper, tidy, well- organized, diciplined and surprise: fun! All friends always gathered in our home.
Mom created a good home with small means and a shows a fantastic example of mothering, being a moral stronghold, artistic, fun loving, curious, with a drive and will- power. Admirable. Surprisingly determined.
Yeah, people deny and cannot carry this (there is even more). Think, not even professionals could deal with our/ my story.
Far away from fairy tales. But dont f**k with me, please: I have access to court protocol and key witness statements.
Today we dont flee mom. We fly.
Taday we dont fight: we live, love and flourish. We create. You did good!
Ever grateful! I wish your last years are peaceful and light to carry. You are my life's longest human contact, a precious one.
Post scriptum:
I got professional help first 1994. I went through 3,5 years of therapy.
Father didn't only hurt mom- he never violated us kids physically, ever- but domestic violence and abuse has often 6 victims:
The actor itself, the victim and the bystanders, witnesses etc. My mom never got any help whatsoever.
Violence, abuse at home: go. Dont bother even saying goodbye. Go.
You might have thoughts and reflections,
Just PM me, please!
